


Dot's 2018 Tumblr drabbles

by dot_the_writer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drarry Drabbles, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Inspired by a Five for Fighting song, M/M, Mention of abuse, Minor Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson, Minor Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Minor Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, Post-Hogwarts, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 11,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dot_the_writer/pseuds/dot_the_writer
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles that are originally posted on myTumblr. Tags/rating will change as things are added.





	1. Chapter 1

Draco opens the door to stop the incessant fucking knocking. For Merlin’s sake, Harry and he both had the afternoon off, and they were just about to make the most of it. He’s barefoot, shirt unbuttoned, and wanting more than anything to be back in the bedroom upstairs.

The door swings open to reveal a slightly overweight man, about Draco’s age, standing next to a brown-haired child, with his hand still up in the air, as if to continue knocking. Draco wants to snap at him, but the child looks so sweet – Draco’s a sucker for kids – and the man has a slightly panicked look in his eyes. Draco regretted not grabbing his wand before coming downstairs.

“Can I help you?”

The man looks quite confused as he takes in the sight of Draco, looking just disheveled enough that it should be clear what he was doing, or at least trying to do, before the knocking started.

“I – I must have the wrong house. I’m looking for Harry.” The man takes a step back, grabbing the girl’s hand in one of his own.

“And how would you know Harry?”

“He, wait, he does live here?” The man gives Draco a once over. Draco stands tall and glares back at him. “I, uh,” He glances at the child. “Well, he’s my cousin.”

Draco feels his hands tense into fists; he’s heard about Harry’s cousin. They’d been together for months before pieces of Harry’s childhood starting slipping out, but it was years before he put it all together.

“You’re Dudley,” Draco drawled. The years had softened him, but he knows he can still look intimidating when he tries. “And you thought it was okay to show up at Harry’s house?”

Instead of answering, Dudley pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. Draco would recognize the seal anywhere.

“This came today,” he smiles at the girl. “For Lily. I’m okay with it – I am, but I just wanted his help. Please, for her.”

Draco hears the stairs creak and knows Harry is coming down. He doesn’t know what to do. Dudley is standing on his porch. With Lily. Lily.

“Who is – oh,” Harry enters the doorway, placing a hand on Draco’s lower back. He faltered for just a moment before recovering. “Dudley, well, come on in then.”

* * *

Dudley had to step out of the room when they learned about child abuse at the police training academy. He stood in the hallway, his huge shoulders shaking, chest heaving, and tears streaming down his cheeks. For years, he had known the way his parents treated Harry had been horrible, but never before had it been explained so clearly.

He wanted to reach out – to say something to the man he barely knew, but he didn’t know how. Dudley didn’t have a clue as how to contact someone in the wizarding world, much less how to find Harry in it. And he had absolutely no idea what he would say if he spoke to Harry again. There were no words to right the wrongs that Dudley and his parents had committed.

So instead, he was left to cry alone outside the classroom and work to reconcile the image of his parents as doting and loving with the knowledge that they had abused a child.

Over the next few years, Dudley rose through the ranks in his department. He specialized in crimes against children and vowed to do his best to stop any child from being treated the way Harry was. Every child needed love; every child deserved love.

The day he came home to his wife saying “I’m pregnant” was simultaneously the most exciting and terrifying day of Dudley’s life. But there was one thing he knew for certain: He would be a better parent than his own.

The baby was born, a little girl. The green eyes had skipped Petunia and Dudley, but his little girl had beautiful emerald eyes. Harry’s eyes.

Lily’s eyes.

And that was it. The name was chosen.

Dudley saw himself in Lily. She was the aunt he never had to chance to know, but when he held his daughter for the first time he knew he would give his life for the crying bundle in his arms, just as Lily gave her’s for Harry.

His parents were still full of misconceptions and prejudice, but he was working with them, trying to open their eyes to see beyond their own fragile existence.

Maybe Petunia would be able to love this Lily. Maybe she would be able to see her sister in those green eyes and find forgiveness for her wrongs.

Lily was beautiful, she was perfect, and she was his. Dudley was going to do his best to raise her right.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been incredibly, undeniably awkward the first time Harry was in Draco’s room – and the second, and the third, but eventually, it just wasn’t. They started off their eighth year with an uncomfortable truce, then formed a slightly less uncomfortable friendship.

Now, as Harry rummaged through Draco’s closet, pulling out clothes to help him pack, he realized he was rather going to miss the pointy git. He would actually miss him quite a bit.

Across the room, swearing while digging through his desk, Draco was coming to a similar conclusion. It seemed Potter had always been a part of his life, in one way or another. Even before they met, he’d grown up hearing stories about The Boy Who Lived.

Harry paused as he pulled a black ball of cloth out of the depths of the closet. He unrolled it and started laughing, “You kept this? From third year?”

Draco turned and peered over at him. He realized what Harry was holding and blushed crimson.

He huffed. “So what if I kept it? It was one of the many times I bested you.”

Harry continued to laugh, “Was it?”

He examined the material more closely, and his laughter ceased. “This looks – Draco, did you sew this?”

Draco huffed again. “Well, it’s not like they sell Dementor’s outfits at Madam Malkins.”

Harry set the costume down and sat on the bed, pulling his knees to his chin and wrapping his hands around his ankles.

“Can I ask though, why you did it – why you put in that much effort? I mean – nevermind, I know you hated me.”

This was not a conversation Draco wanted to have now, or really, ever; but especially not now that he and Harry were friends. Even so, Draco set down the quills and the bottle of ink he was holding and joined Harry on the bed – though he sat much more primly, not like an overgrown five-year-old.

He sighed, “I just wanted your attention, Potter.”

“Because you hated me. It’s fine, I can’t say I was your biggest fan either.”

“I don’t know that I ever actually hated you,” Draco said, keeping his eyes locked on a spot somewhere over Harry’s left shoulder. “I may have had some, well, feelings for you that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with at the time.”

He could feel Harry looking at him and knew the moment realization hit the brunette. Harry’s eyes widened comically and he let out a little noise.

Draco stood and went back to his desk when it seemed Harry wasn’t going to say anything.

But Harry’s voice, just a whisper, carried across the room. “Do you still have, um, feelings?”

Draco wanted to lie. Desperately, he wanted to say no and not ruin their fragile peace. But this was something he’d denied himself for so long, and after the war, he had made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t be a coward. Not anymore. Not again.

And so he nodded. Barely perceptible. He was turned away from Harry, but he felt the boy rise and come to stand behind him. He felt Harry raise his hand, almost touching Draco’s back.

“After all this time?”

Draco nodded again. “After all this time.”

And that seemed to break the spell: Harry grabbed him, turned him around and kissed him. It was brilliant, the best kiss of Draco’s life. Harry’s hand came to rest on Draco’s neck as he opened his mouth, allowing Draco in.

Draco moaned into his mouth and pulled Harry closer. If this is what happened when he was brave, Draco thought he might be doing it a lot more often.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is based off of a Tumblr post, which can be found [here](https://l0vegl0wsinthedark.tumblr.com/post/162824270676/ohsodraco-omny87-william-snekspeare-if-harry)!

Even though they had been dating for a few months, they were trying to take things slow. Their history had never been, well, easy to say the least, and neither Harry nor Draco wanted to mess up what they had now.

Because it was beautiful. Harry had never been happier, and though he didn’t say it often, Harry knew Draco felt the same.

The pair usually hung out at Draco’s flat – it was closer to the Ministry, closer to the wizarding district of London, but Draco had finally spent the night at Harry’s.

And that too had been beautiful. After a romantic dinner (cooked by Harry), they moved to the couch for slow kisses and soft touches. Draco had never been in Harry’s bedroom before, but by the time they moved there for more intimate activities, Harry wasn’t really thinking about showing Draco around.

So in retrospect, Harry should have been expecting his boyfriend to be surprised in the morning when Gordon, his harmless pet snake, slithered to the side of the bed.

“Good morning! This is your snake-up call.”

What he wasn’t expecting though, was the screaming.

“Potter! Potter! There’s a snake!”

Draco scrambled out of bed, almost falling on the floor in his haste.

“I even made you breakfast! It is a single raw egg.”

“Why the fuck is there a snake in your bedroom? And why the hell is it holding an egg?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he reached over to greet Gordon, giving him a light kiss on his head.

“Potter – don’t laugh at me! What is going on?”

“I don’t know how to cook.”

Gordon deposited Harry’s breakfast on the bed and slithered back to his cage by the door.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m dating the next Dark Lord, my mother’s going to kill me, that snake is going to eat me; Potter, where the hell are my pants?”

Draco was now crouched on the nightstand, completely naked, wand in one hand and searching the room for his pants. Harry was still in bed, tears streaming down his face and in stitches from laughing so hard.

“Draco, calm down,” Harry was trying to breathe through his laughter. “Gordon is harmless – he was just bringing breakfast!”

“Potter, bring me my pants and keep that – that thing away from me! I hate you, I’m breaking up with you and your snake!”

Harry sobered at this, realizing just how freaked out Draco was.

“Love, honestly, it’s okay.” He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him back onto the blankets. “I promise, I’m not going to be the next Dark Lord, now please come back to bed.”

Draco moved away from Harry and stared resolutely at Gordon.

“Please, Draco, I’m sorry he scared you.” Harry moved behind Draco and began kissing behind his ear, down his neck. “Let me make it up to you?”

Draco moaned, leaning into the warmth of Harry’s mouth, and Gordon slithered out of the room to give the couple some privacy.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry usually has nightmares about losing Remus or Fred. He sees them fall, over and over, again and again, when he closes his eyes at night. At their worst, the nightmares take those from him that Harry knows are safe – he loses Hermione, isn’t fast enough to save Ron.

He usually wakes, sweating and breathing hard, and reorients himself with the truth.

It was easier over the summer, when he was living with Ron and Hermione in Grimmauld Place. The trio was all suffering from nightmares and, more often than not, would end up sharing a bed together, loosely touching under the blankets.

But now Harry is back at Hogwarts, and while the others are as well, the eighth year dorms aren’t separated by house. So instead of sharing with Ron, Harry has Draco as a roommate.

When Harry wakes tonight though, he’s grateful knowing the blonde is merely a few feet away. Because tonight, Harry dreamed of the Room of Hidden Things and the Fiendfyre. Dreamed of Draco, reaching out to grab onto Harry, but everything was hot and they were sweating and their hands missed. Harry missed.

He woke to the sound of screams as Draco fell into the fire.

So tonight, instead of needing to see Ron or Hermione and reassure himself that they are alive, that they are fine, Harry feels the need to do the same to Draco. Who is, conveniently, only a few feet away.

Once his breathing is back to normal, Harry pulls back his curtains and tiptoes out of bed. He invades Draco’s space, ending up inches from the blonde’s sleeping form.

Harry sees him move, can hear him breathing and knows that the nightmare was wrong. He saved Draco, just like Draco saved him. He’s alive; they’re both alive.

But for some reason, the visual confirmation isn’t enough, and Harry feels the urge to reach out and touch Draco. So he does. He lightly strokes Draco’s hair – which is silkier than it looks – and runs his thumb across Draco’s angular cheekbone.

What he doesn’t expect is for Draco’s breathing to change, for him to open his grey eyes and look up at Harry, but Harry doesn’t stop touching him.

And Draco doesn’t ask him to. Instead, Draco gently grabs Harry’s wrist and pulls him closer. He rolls over, still holding onto Harry, forcing the Gryffindor to climb into his bed.

He too understands the need for reassurance. Draco knows what it’s like to need to touch someone to know they made it out alive.

And so they fall asleep like that; Harry wrapped around Draco, and Draco holding onto Harry’s hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't Draco/Harry (apologies), but looks instead at Harry and Teddy. (:

The first time Harry held Teddy, he was a scared eighteen-year-old who had just survived a war. He sat in Andromeda’s house with a squirming, blue-haired baby in his arms and cried over Remus and Tonks, over the injustice that Teddy – like Harry himself – would be growing up without parents.

But that’s where the similarities between them would end; Harry would make sure of that. As Teddy cooed up at him, Harry promised himself that Teddy would grow up surrounded by family and friends who loved him, who supported him. He would grow up knowing who his parents were and what they had given their lives for.

Teddy had Andromeda, Narcissa, Draco, even Lucius (for whatever that was worth), and he had Harry. Harry was going to be the godfather Sirius never had the chance to be. He was going to spoil Teddy rotten – buy him his first broom, teach him how to do basic spells, and make sure he knew all the secret passageways in Hogwarts before attending school.

Harry was going to make sure that Teddy was always cared for, so it would never come as a surprise when someone told him they loved him. That Teddy knew better than to doubt the love he was given, because his self-worth would be so ingrained into him.

He wouldn’t grow up in a damn cupboard, that was for sure.

Teddy looked up, hazel eyes meeting green, and managed to turn his hair black. Harry laughed. This is what he fought for: A generation was being born that wouldn’t have to live in fear. They were safe now, and they were loved.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was thrilled to be taking a vacation. Luna and Pansy had been planning it for months, and it was both an engagement party and an excuse for Luna to search for wrackspurts.

Hermione and Ron were coming, of course, as well as Blaise, Ginny, and Draco. Entirely due to Luna and Pansy’s influence, Harry and Draco were finally on a first-name basis. And once Blaise and Ginny had gotten together, he and Draco were the only single ones left, leading them to spend quite a bit of time together – and allowing for some feelings to develop, though Harry was sure they were unrequited.

“Hello, everyone!” Luna greeted them all as they arrived by Portkey in the hotel lobby. It was late and everyone was exhausted, so Luna’s enthusiasm was only met by some grunts and groans. “I hope the trip was easy? Pansy and I got here yesterday.”

Harry tried unsuccessfully to cover his yawn, leaning his head on Draco’s shoulder.

“Get off me, Potter.”

Harry pretended to snore, staying right where he was.

“Oh, let me see. I know I have your room keys somewhere.” Luna reached into her bag, a present from Hermione, and pulled out three room cards after a bit of searching. “Here we are. Blaise and Ginny, here’s yours; Ron and Hermione, you’re next to them; and Harry and Draco, you’re between them and Pansy and I.”

Harry grabbed the card and nodded. He wasn’t surprised to be sharing with Draco, as that way all the couples were paired up. It would be fine.

What was surprising was when they opened the door to their room and there was only one bed. One bed. For the two of them.

“Luna?” Harry called out of the room.

“Yes, Harry?” Luna came back into the hallway. “Something the matter?”

“There’s only one bed, I think the hotel made a mistake.”

Luna sighed. “Oh, they must have. But the front desk is closed, and I know they’re booked solid, so can you two make it work?”

Harry looked at Draco, who was staring at the bed and scowling. “Sure, Luna. We’ll figure it out.”

He shut the door, missing her mischievous grin and wink to Pansy.

“What the hell was that?” Draco demanded. “ _We’ll figure it out?_ ”

“I didn’t want to upset her, it’s her engagement party.” Harry shrugged.

Draco continued to scowl. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“How are we doing this then?”

“It’s a big bed, so we can both sleep on it?”

Draco huffed. “Fine. I’m taking the right side.”

Harry nodded. No big deal. They could do this, it was going to be fine.

Harry quickly realized it was not going to be fine.

After climbing into bed, he couldn’t fall asleep. He was hyper-aware of every movement Draco made next to him. It was no better once Draco had fallen asleep, because he quickly rolled over and grabbed what was closest to him: in this case, Harry.

Draco’s arm was wrapped around Harry’s torso, one of his pale legs shoved between Harry’s darker thighs and his head buried in Harry’s neck. If they were dating, it would have been sweet.

“Draco.” Harry tried to squirm out of Draco’s grasp, but the blonde held tight. “Psst, Draco.”

Harry could tell Draco was awake because the grip loosened for a moment before tightening. “What?”

“Uhh, you’re holding onto me.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “Am I hurting you?

“No?”

“Okay, then go back to sleep.” Draco burrowed his nose further into Harry’s neck and Harry could feel Draco’s breath against his skin.

“Why are you holding onto me?”

“Don’t question it.”

Harry didn’t, and soon, he drifted off into sleep, held steady by the body wrapped around his own.

* * *

In the morning, Draco had shifted away from him, but they were still touching. Harry propped himself up on his elbow and stroked Draco’s cheek. Grey eyes opened, meeting green. Harry leaned over and pressed a light kiss to Draco’s lips.

“Why are you kissing me?” Draco’s voice came out soft and sleepy.

“Don’t question it,” Harry said, and leaned down where his lips met Draco’s once more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this drabble deals with medication for panic attacks.

Harry held a little blue pill in one hand while Draco squeezed the other. “You don’t have to be ashamed of this.”

“I know,” Harry said, glancing at Draco before looking back at the pill.

They sat across from each other at their kitchen table, the last bits of sunlight filtering through the curtains.

“I’m proud of you.”

Harry tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I don’t like the idea of taking a pill every day.”

Draco nodded; he understood this was hard for Harry.

“What if this changes who I am?”

“Harry, look at me. You were abused for ten years. You were a child soldier in a war. You defeated the greatest dark wizard of our time. For Merlin’s sake, you  _died_ in a forest. And you get panic attacks. It’s okay. You’ve tried wizarding medicine, and now you’re trying muggle options. It’s going to change you – hopefully – because it’s going to make you better.”

Harry looked close to tears. “What if I don’t know who I am without my anxiety?”

Draco squeezed his hand. “Then we’ll figure it out, together. I’m going to be right here with you every step of the way.”

“It’s just been a part of me for so long,” Harry whispered.

It was true, but Draco meant what he said. He was there for the nightmares – the ones where Harry screamed in his sleep, the ones where Ron and Hermione were killed, the ones where Harry woke up clutching his scar, when he wasn’t sure if the war had actually ended. Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s mess of black hair and rubbed circles on his back. He hugged Harry, rocked him, wiped away his tears.

And Draco was there for the panic attacks. When Harry collapsed on the floor, hyperventilating and his face streaked with tears, Draco sank to the ground next to him. He calmed Harry down, made him slow his breathing. He held Harry’s hands to stop the shaking, his voice speaking nonsense in order to give Harry something to focus on.

“It’s okay to be worried.”

Harry nodded. “I know.” He took a sip of the tea – now cold – sitting in front of him and threw back the pill.

“Good?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I’m good.”

He was starting to think he would be, soon. The medication would help, and Harry had good people in his life to help him and support him. The war was over, and it was time for him to start living.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: "Could you do some Drarry where one of them is sick but refuses to admit it/goes to work anyway?"

Harry always knows when Draco’s getting sick. It starts with him snoring lightly at night as his nose becomes stuffy – a fact Draco vehemently denies. Then he adds copious amounts of honey to his tea, though he refuses to admit it’s to help with a sore throat.

On this particular morning, Harry wakes to find Draco’s side of the bed empty, save for half a dozen wrinkled tissues. Draco’s magic always gets a bit iffy when he isn’t feeling well, causing him to use muggle methods.

Harry makes his way to the kitchen, where Draco’s stirring spoonful after spoonful of honey into his tea. He glares at Harry. “Don’t say a word.”

“Love, you can’t go to work today.”

The glaring intensifies. “Have you forgotten?” Draco snaps. “I have a huge project to finish – we’re presenting to Minister Shacklebolt in less than a week!”

Draco’s an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, and sometimes he takes his job a bit too seriously. (Not that Harry isn’t guilty of that as well.)

“Draco. You’re sick. I know you have a project – not that you’ll tell me anything about it – but will you really be productive like this? It’s my day off; stay home and I can take care of you.”

Draco arches an eyebrow. The effect is somewhat ruined by the massive sneeze he lets out a moment later.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, pausing to  _Accio_  a tissue and blow his nose. “Now, I’m off to work.”

Harry sighs. Once Draco makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.

The Floo roars green, and Harry’s left alone in their flat. He busies himself by cleaning the dishes and making their bed, all the while hoping that Draco’s doing okay.

A few hours later, Harry’s sitting on the sofa with a book when he hears a tapping at the window.

His heart rate picks up as he recognizes the bird as a Ministry owl – is he being called in for emergency Auror business? Has something happened in the Department of Mysteries?

_Harry,_

_I need you to come to the Ministry and pick up your sick boyfriend. He’s being absolutely useless, but won’t listen to any of us telling him to GO HOME._

_He sneezed on the report we spent three months on. If he wasn’t usually a competent partner, so help me Merlin, I’d throw him out myself._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry sighs and Floos to the Ministry. With his top-level security clearance, it doesn’t take long before he’s striding into the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione’s waiting for him, frizzy black hair pulled into a bun, framing her face like a halo. She has her hands on her hips and a look of annoyance on her face, which only increases as Harry approaches.

“How could you let Draco come into work today?”

_“Let him?”_  Harry laughs. “Hermione, have you met Draco? I don’t  _let him_  do anything.”

She nods, conceding his point. “You’re right, I know. I forget Draco is even more stubborn than you. Just take him home, please.”

She takes Harry by the hand and leads him to Draco, who’s moaning pitifully with his forehead resting on the desk.

Harry slides his fingers through Draco’s hair and kisses his cheek when Draco looks up. “I’m here to take you home.”

Draco nods, standing slowly. His nose is red and his cheeks are pale – Harry can see why Hermione owled him.

They make their way through the Ministry and back to their flat, Harry holding tightly onto Draco’s hand the whole way.

He pushes Draco onto their couch, despite feeble protests. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

Harry runs and gets the softest blanket from their bedroom, along with Draco’s favorite silk pyjamas and a box of tissues. He stops in the kitchen and quickly makes tea – with lots of honey – and returns to the living room.

Once Draco’s changed and they’re snuggled together under the blanket, Harry kisses the top of Draco’s head. “I told you, you should’ve just let me take care of you.”

Draco snuggles further into the crook between Harry’s neck and shoulder. “I love you, even though you have to be right all the time.”

Harry smiles. “I love you too, even when you insist on being difficult.”

“Prat.”

“Git.”

They fall asleep like that, curled together on the couch, tea cooling on the coffee table.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: "Thlaise at Hogwarts?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (As you can tell by the summary, this one isn't Drarry either, but I hope you enjoy!)

Blaise isn’t sure when his attraction to Theo started. Theo has always just been there; he’s a quiet constant in Blaise’s life, a reliable force of good.

So when Blaise walks into their dormitory and finds Theo sobbing, sitting on the floor by his bed, Blaise does the only thing imaginable: He goes and sits by Theo, wrapping his arms around the other boy.

“Theo, hey, it’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Theo chokes out, tears streaming down his cheeks. “The Carrows are here – the Dark Lord is returning.  _My father’s a Death Eater, Blaise!_ ”

Blaise knows, of course. The names of the Death Eaters are open secrets in the Slytherin House, but Blaise has never heard Theo talk about it.

He tightens his arms around Theo, pulling him almost into his lap. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re at Hogwarts, and I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe.”

“You can’t promise that.” Theo wipes his tears away with his sleeve. “Blaise, my father wants me to take the Mark.”

“Don’t.”

“You think I want to?” Theo’s yelling now, and Blaise quickly puts up a silencing charm. “You think I have a choice?”

“I’m giving you a choice. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Theo looks at him, and he must see something in Blaise’s eyes, because he nods. The fight deflates from him.

“It’s not going to be easy, but we’re going to get through this. I promise you, Theo.”

Theo leans up and presses a quick kiss to Blaise’s cheek, before blushing and trying to pull out of Blaise’s arms. “I’m sorry – sorry, Blaise.”

Blaise is frozen for a moment before coming to his sense. “No, please don’t apologize. I,” he takes a deep breath. “I’ve wanted that for a long time. I’ve wanted  _you_  for a long time.”

Theo moves his hand to Blaise’s face and brings him down for another kiss, and this time, their lips meet and part, and it’s more beautiful than Blaise ever imagined.

When they pull apart– minutes or hours later, Blaise can’t tell – the tears have dried on Theo’s face and he’s smiling.

“The war is coming, but I promise you, we’re going to survive.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: "Drarry: 'I didn't realise /this/ is what muggles would consider romantic.'"

Harry and Draco’s first Valentine’s Day celebration was pushed to the next day. And then the next, and the next, and the next. With Harry as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts and Draco a well-respected Healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital, neither had time for a romantic celebration during the week.

Today though, they’re celebrating. Harry Apparates to muggle London and finds Draco waiting for him behind an old antique shop. He can’t stop himself from immediately running up to Draco and pulling him into a kiss.

“Hello to you too, Harry,” Draco smiles. Even the Slytherin ice prince can’t be stoic in the face of his overenthusiastic boyfriend. “What do you have planned for us this evening?”

“There’s this muggle thing I’ve wanted to do since it opened – it’s supposed to be quite romantic – and then I have dinner reservations for us.”

Draco raises an eyebrow when muggle romance is brought up, but nods. “Sounds acceptable.”

Harry’s feeling a bit jittery – he knows he isn’t the most romantic person, but he put in a lot of effort to make today special for their own personal Valentine’s Day.

He takes Draco by the hand and leads him through the crowds to the London Eye. The sun is just starting to set, and he knows the view over the Thames at the top will be absolutely gorgeous.

Draco stops, glancing back and forth between the wheel and Harry. “I didn’t realize this is what muggles would consider romantic.”

Harry’s heart sinks. Draco sounds annoyed, and disappointed – two things Harry definitely wasn’t aiming for. But as Draco’s hand tightens around his own, he realizes Draco’s tone isn’t actually anger at his choice of activities; Draco’s scared.

Which, honestly, fair enough. Harry trusts muggle technology and machinery, but Draco grew up surrounded by wizards and all things magical. The London Eye must look terrifying: a big metal circle meant to suspend people in smaller metal cages.

Harry turns so he’s looking straight into Draco’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Draco sighs. “If I can’t trust the Saviour of the Wizarding World, then who can I trust?”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.” Draco looks like it’s painful for him to admit; he’s never liked any sort of declaration of sentimentality.

Harry pulls him toward the queue, and after a few minutes of waiting, one of the employees helps them into a capsule. Harry had pulled some strings to make sure they’d be the only two in their capsule.

The wheel starts spinning and Draco grabs so tightly onto Harry’s hand he thinks a finger or two must be broken.

“Here, Draco.” Harry pulls out Draco’s favorite white wine and a pair of glasses from his pocket and unshrinks them. “Thought maybe you could use this.”

As they keep drinking wine and cycling towards the top, Draco relaxes more and more. Harry can’t help but stare at Draco, standing in front of the glass with a look of absolute exhilaration on his face.

He turns and catches Harry. “You’re such a sop.”

“I know.”

Draco smiles and turns back to the glass. They rise higher and higher, the sun setting over the river and casting all sorts of colors over London.

“It’s beautiful,” Draco says.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Draco laughs. “Not even my looks can compete with this.”

“Glad you trusted me?”

“Always, Harry. I’ve trusted you even when I didn’t trust myself.”

Harry comes up next to him and rests his head on Draco’s shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: "Could you write some Drarry + Invisibility cloak?"

In a repeat of his behavior from sixth year, Harry has taken to (once again) following Malfoy around under his invisibility cloak.

He ignores Ron’s pointed looks and Hermione’ eye rolls. Malfoy’s up to something – he just knows it. And hey, last time Harry thought that, he was right.

“Mate, are you sure you’re not just… Obsessed? With Malfoy?” Ron looks sick at the thought.

“He’s being nice to me, Ron. He complimented my glasses yesterday, and the day before he told me my hair looked like less of a mess than usual!”

Hermione sighs and keeps writing her essay; she refuses to be drawn into what she refers to as “Harry’s crazy hypothesis, part two.”

So far, when Harry’s been under the invisibility cloak, he‘s observed Malfoy sneaking bites of chocolate in the library – and getting a distracting drop on his lower lip before licking it away – and helping a third year Slytherins defend herself from a bully.

Malfoy hasn’t done anything mean or nefarious, nor has he gone out of his way to compliment people as he does to Harry. Still, it‘s strange behavior, and Harry’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

Things start to get interesting when he overhears Malfoy talking to Parkinson as they walk to Herbology. Harry has a free period, so he isn’t worried about being late to any of his own classes.

“Pans, I’m telling you, this whole ‘being nice’ plan of yours isn’t working.”

Ahh, so there is a plan!

“Darling, I promise you, keep doing what you’re doing and he’ll notice you.”

What’s Malfoy doing? And who is this mysterious “he” – Harry feels a tug in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy trying to get someone else’s attention.

“I’m sure you’re right. It’s just so frustrating.”

Harry loses them as they enter the greenhouses, but he has a lot to think about. What could Malfoy possibly be up to?

* * *

A few days later, Harry feels like he’s being driven spare. Malfoy has complimented his Defense skills, his handwriting, and even offered help on a Potions assignment.

He can’t take it anymore.

That evening, he dons the invisibility cloak and sneaks down into the dungeons, following an unsuspecting first year through the door to the Slytherin common room. Using the Marauder’s Map, he makes his way up to Malfoy’s dormitory, where the blonde is – luckily – alone.

Harry pauses momentarily outside the door, realizing he doesn’t actually have a plan. But in typical-Gryffindor fashion, he barges in anyway.

He slams the door shut behind him and pulls off the cloak, much to Malfoy’s surprise.

“Potter? What the hell are you doing in my room?

“You don’t get to ask questions! What are you doing?”

Malfoy glares at him. “Currently?” He drawls, “Working on my Herbology essay.”

“You know what I mean.” Harry stalks forward, leaving just a few steps between them.

“I really can’t say that I do.”

“Your plan! Whatever it is you’re up to; I heard you and Parkinson talking the other day.”

Malfoy blanches, looking paler than ever. “What exactly did you hear?”

“You’re trying to get someone’s attention.”

Malfoy throws his head back and laughs. “That’s it? You’re accusing me of what exactly? Getting attention?”

Harry fidgets. Maybe he should have thought this through.

“Well, yes. You’re up to something, just like in sixth year.”

“Potter, I promise you, this is nothing like sixth year.”

“No? Then prove it.”

Harry sees Malfoy waver for a split second before he steps forward, closing the gap between them. He places one hand around Harry’s neck and the other on Harry’s hip, playing with the waistband of his jeans.

He then pauses, mere centimeters away. Harry can feel Malfoy’s heart beat against his own. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Harry can’t wait for Malfoy to close the gap between them. Suddenly, he realizes that seven years of fights and animosity have lead them to this moment and it’s overwhelming. He pushes forward, bringing their lips together and groaning at the perfection of the moment.

Malfoy swipes his tongue across Harry’s lower lip and Harry opens his mouth in response. The kiss deepens, and both Harry and Draco bring their bodies as close together as they can, touching from lips to thighs.

After what feels like forever, Draco slowly pulls back and regards Harry’s kiss-swollen lips for a minute before speaking. “That was the plan, you daft git. I was being nice to you, so you’d notice me. It was Pansy’s barmy idea.”

“Well,” Harry said, leaning in to mouth at Draco’s neck. “Can’t be too crazy since it worked.”

Draco lets out a loud laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”

The invisibility cloak and Harry’s suspicions are forgotten as they move towards Draco’s bed, losing layers of clothes as they go.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: "Could you, maybe ... write a domestic Drarry preferably with a ‘lil dash of bebby Teddy?"

Draco wakes to the sound of little feet padding down the hallway. The door to his and Harry’s bedroom creaks open and before he has time to move, there’s a five-year-old wiggling to get under the covers between him and Harry.

“Teddy?” Draco’s voice cracks with sleep. “What’s going on, love?” He runs his fingers through Teddy’s hair. It’s thick and untamable, just like his godfather’s.

Teddy’s voice is quiet, but filled with fear when he speaks. “Draco?”

“I’m here.”

Harry wakes and shifts, and his eyes – filled with concern – meet Draco’s. “Hey, Teddy bear.”

He wiggles further between them. “I had a bad dream – can I sleep in here tonight?”

Harry’s never been able to say no to Teddy. The boy can ask for the most ridiculous things, and Harry will still try to give in. It’s one of the things left from growing up unloved, nights spent in a cupboard under the stairs.

“Of course, Teddy.”

“Can you tell me a story?”

Draco can barely make out Harry’s nod in the darkness before he starts to speak. He tells stories of fairy princes, of men who turn into animals and the wolf that saves them all. He speaks of knights and battles, the good always prevailing.

Teddy drifts off to sleep, his head on Draco’s chest and his legs over Harry’s torso, clutching his favorite stuffed dragon. Draco reaches over and runs his fingers through the boy’s hair; when he sleeps, it always turns the same sandy brown colour that Remus’ was.

He closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of Harry’s soft snores and Teddy’s little mumbles.

* * *

In the morning, the bed is empty and Draco hears laughter ringing out from the kitchen. When he gets there, he stops in the doorway for a moment, admiring the sight that greets him.

Harry has streaks of flour through his jet-black hair and across his shirt, and Teddy has a spot of chocolate on his nose. His hair is turquoise, as it is whenever he’s happy.

“Draco! We’re making chocolate chip pancakes – Harry says they’re your favorites!”

He can’t help but smile down at Teddy. “Yes, love, they are.”

When the war was at its peak, Draco never imagined he would survive, much less end up with Harry Potter making pancakes in the kitchen they share. And yet, as he pulls out plates and sets the table for breakfast, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The three of them might be a strange little family, but with Harry and Teddy, Draco’s happier than he’s ever been.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: "Drarry: 'scared potter?' 'you bet /fuck/ i am'"

Eighth year has been a chance to form new friendships and allegiances, a chance to move on from the war. For many of the returning students, it’s been a cathartic experience.

And yet, it’s coming to a close. Laying by the Great Lake, Draco at his side, Harry finds himself worried about what comes next. Graduation is just around the corner. Soon, everyone will go their separate ways.

He squeezes Draco’s hand a little tighter. They haven’t talked about what will happen in the coming months, but now that Harry has him, he sure as hell isn’t about to let go.

“Everything all right?” Draco asks. “You’ve been awfully quiet this evening.”

Harry sighs. “Everything’s going to change soon.” He turns his head, looking up at the castle. “We’re all leaving.”

 **“Scared, Potter?”**  Draco’s smirking, Harry can tell just from his voice.

Harry lets out a harsh laugh.  **“You fucking bet I am.”**

Draco turns to face him. “You really are, aren’t you?”

Harry nods. He feels miserable. “There’s no prophecy anymore – which is great – but at the same time, I don’t know what to do next.”

“I don’t think any of us thought we’d live this long.”

That’s part of it, Harry knows. When he was hit by the killing curse for the second time and given the opportunity to choose death, he considered it.

It was the easier option.

Living is hard; he’s eighteen for fuck’s sake – he doesn’t know what he wants to do with the rest of his life. All he does know if that his friends are leaving, off with dreams and goals, finding their own adventures.

“Harry, I promise you, it’s going to be okay. You have Granger and Weasley, and the support of the entire wizarding world.” He pauses momentarily. “And you have me.”

Harry can’t help but smile. “I do, don’t I? It’s just, nothing will be the same.”

“No, it won’t.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “That’s not exactly helping to cheer me up, you know?”

“Look, I know you’re scared. But nothing really has to change.” Draco’s tone is soft. “You’ll still see me and your friends, and it’s not like McGonagall is going to ban the Saviour of the Wizarding World from visiting Hogwarts. You’ll be back.”

“And who knows?” Draco continues, leaning in to gently kiss Harry. “Maybe what’s coming next will be even better.”

Harry squeezes Draco’s hand. He knows how lucky he is that they were able to overcome their petty animosity – and even more, that they were then able to start dating.

And he knows that Draco’s right; the possibilities are endless.

Looking at his boyfriend, the setting sun glinting through Draco’s blonde hair, Harry nods. This isn’t the end, not really. It’s just a new start.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ask: Drarry, "Is this what you meant when you said 'fun?"

“Yes, Potter, let’s have a _fun_ day at work today. Let’s just walk in – to a potions shop known to work in Dark magic – and _fall into_ one of the shelves when the owner draws his wand.”

“It’s not like I meant to.” Potter huffs, clearly upset with Draco laying all the blame on him.

Too bad. It’s all Potter’s fault; might as well put the blame where it belongs. “Sure, you didn’t _mean_ to, but really! Now we’re stuck in St. Mungo’s until they figure out what the bloody hell you managed to get on us. **Is this what you meant when you said _fun_?** ”

The white walls of St. Mungo’s are giving Draco a headache. He and Potter are sharing a room, laying in hospital beds next to each other, both wearing nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown.

“It’s not like I’m having much fun either, you know,” Potter mumbles. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

Draco feels exposed, uncomfortable.

So far there’s no ill effects – beyond the fact that he and Potter can’t be more than five feet apart without intense pain.

And it’s getting worse.

Draco can feel Potter edging towards him, and Draco can feel himself doing the same. He has an overwhelming urge to touch – to reach out and grab Potter’s hand, run his fingers through Potter’s inky black hair.

They’re both sitting on the edges of their respective beds, neither wanting to take the final step of actually reaching out.

Draco hears a muttered curse and a hand reaches out to grab his own. Potter pulls his arm and drags him into the other bed. The force of the move momentarily disorientates him, and when he regains his balance, he’s straddling Potter’s lap, looking down into green eyes.

Harry starts to smile, but before anything more can happen, a nurse walks in. Draco tries to move, to regain some of his dignity, but Potter holds him tight.

“Well, we found out what the potion was. Nothing Dark, it just makes you face the object of your desire.” Draco can hear the smirk in her voice. “It’ll wear off on its own; feel free to take a moment to get dressed and then you’ll be discharged.”

She walks out, the door closing behind her with a click.

“So,” Potter smiles. “I’m the object of your desires?”

“No need to sound so smug about it.”

Harry laughs, and raises his lips to Draco’s for a kiss.

“You know, _this_ is what I meant when I said fun.”


	15. 'You Were Abused.'

Draco frowned down at Harry, who was messing with the blanket and studiously not looking at him. He still had trouble dealing with emotional conversations.

Draco thought it was a result of living with the Durlseys – who never spoke to Harry about anything of importance – then going to Hogwarts, where one friend didn’t need to speak about emotions and the other knew everything Harry was feeling before he did. When they spoke of anything real, Harry preferred to fidget and not look at Draco. It was okay; they were making it work.

That wasn’t what bothered Draco about tonight’s events.

“You were abused, Harry. You know that, right?”

“I don’t like calling it that.”

“You slept in a cupboard. They barely fed you, barely clothed you. Harry,” Draco forced him to look up, “That’s abuse.”

Harry chewed his bottom lip. “When you put it like that, yes, I know. But I don’t like calling it that. They kept me in their home.” His voice grew soft as he continued. “Other people have it worse than that.”

“That may be true, but that doesn’t trivialize what you went through. Call it what it was.”

Harry shook his head. “Giving it a name – calling what happened to me something so serious – makes it feel too real.”

Ahh, Draco thought, so therein laid the problem.

He took Harry’s hand in his own. “It was real – is real. You can’t be in small spaces, you still look guilty when you take extra food. It was abuse, and it affected who you are.” He took a deep breath. “That’s okay. But it’s also okay to name it, call it what it was.”

Harry nodded, finally looking up at Draco. His lips quirked up into a slight smile. “How did I get so lucky to find you?”

Draco huffed, a smile across his lips. “You finally came to your senses and realized I was there all along.”

Harry nodded, serious once more. “I was abused, you’re right. I don’t like to say it because I don’t want it to define me. I’ve had too much of labels determining my life – The Chosen One, The Saviour; I hate them all.”

“You were abused. You had a shit childhood. But you’re so much more than that. You’re kind and sarcastic. You love your friends and you’ll save anything you think needs help.“ Draco took a moment to glance meaningfully across the room at the owl Harry brought home with a broken wing. “These are all things that define you, Harry James Potter. Just as much as your scar and your horrendous hair.”

“You love my horrendous hair.”

Draco faked a shudder, the truth of Harry’s statement revealed as he ran his fingers through the inky black curls. “It’s one of many things I love about you.”

They stayed in bed like that, thinking of all the pieces that make them up, all the moments that brought them to this one, together.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry never cheated on Ginny; no, he loved her too much for that. But there was a time, after the Battle of Hogwarts, when they had both lost too much to be with each other. They were both kids, dealing with the aftermath of a war.

During that period, there were nights where they turned to each other and it was explosive – sometimes good, sometimes bad. But there were other nights, darker nights, wherein they both turned to someone else. Harry isn’t sure what Ginny got up to on those nights alone; they don’t talk about the dark times.

Didn’t talk about them. Ginny’s gone.

Harry throws back his drink. It still hurts to think about her, walking out of his life. Harry knows something about walking out though. He eyes a shock of blonde hair on the dance floor – hadn’t expected to see him here tonight.

They had met again when they were both healing, both figuring out who they were now that they were free. They turned to each other for comfort, maybe. Maybe for something more. They spent every night together that Harry wasn’t with Ginny, and he started to think it could mean something.

That terrified Harry. He woke up one morning, tangled in long, pale limbs. He realized he was happy. He went out for coffee, and he didn’t come back. But now, seeing that body dance, seeing him move and breathe and smile, Harry feels his chest constricting.

Maybe they could have had something. Maybe he ruined the best thing in his life before it even started. Or maybe it would have burned bright, burned hot and then burned out.

He gets another drink, still staring at the other man.

Draco turns and their eyes meet. Draco smiles.


	17. Chapter 17

The club was loud and filled with people; Draco would have expected nothing less from a Friday night. He sat alone at the bar, having been ditched by both Pansy and Blaise when they found someone more interesting, more willing to go home with them. He was used to it.

Draco would much rather sit at the bar, sipping on his wine and getting a pleasant buzz than mix with the sweaty bodies on the dance floor.

A chair scraped on the floor behind him and a rousing cheer of cat calls broke out, before there was someone leaning into his personal space.

He glanced over, grey eyes meeting green, and took a moment to admire one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. Tall, thin, with messy black hair, wire-rimmed glasses and wearing a slightly too-large sweater, Draco was immediately drawn in.

“Sorry to bother you, but I had a quick question.” The man gave Draco a sheepish grin.

Draco gestured for him to continue.

“Well, I’m trying to convince my friends that I’m a sex god – long story, don’t ask; and they bet me that I wouldn’t be able to get the number of the hottest person here. So, would you mind just writing your number on this napkin?

“It can be fake, though I can’t say I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Your friends decided I’m the most attractive person here?”

The man smiled.

Draco turned to look at the table behind him. A woman with bushy black hair was talking to a chubby, sandy-haired man – clearly neither of them cared much about the outcome of the bet. It was obvious that one of the two redheads had been the one to give the dare.

“Do you often approach strangers to help you lie to your friends?”

The man laughed. “Who said it was a lie?”

Draco smiled, taking the napkin out of the man’s hand. “Sounds like a statement you would need to prove.” He wrote his number and handed it back.

The man laughed, clearly surprised, before holding the paper up triumphantly and yelling at his friends.

The male redhead groaned and the girl started laughing. Well, at least Draco could provide them with some entertainment.

He left not long after, returning to his flat to shower and climb into bed, his cat purring at his feet. Just before he fell asleep, his phone buzzed. _Dare I hope you chose to give me your real number?_

He texted back quickly. _Well, you still need to show me whether or not you deserve the title of “sex god.”_

Draco waited for a few minutes, hoping for a response, but none came through.

* * *

He woke to the sun streaming through the blinds and a text message from an unsaved number. _I can do that. Dinner? Tonight?_

As Draco started to reply, another message come through. _I’m Harry, by the way._


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville x Blaise

“Why do you like me? I mean,” Neville took a deep breath. “Why do you like me now? We went to school together for seven years before this and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Eighth year and the post-war world were, in many ways, completely new experiences for Neville, and one of the most surprising features was his newfound friendship-turned-relationship with Blaise.

Blaise smiled slightly, but his eyes were sad. “You mean –”

“Do you only like me now that I’m thin?” Neville stared at the ground; he knew he had to ask, but he didn’t want to see Blaise’s reaction to his words.

Neville had always been a chubby child, he knew that. Between fourth and fifth year, he became more than chubby: He got fat. But he starved himself during the war to feed the younger students, keeping them strong and making them feel like the war was more distant than it was.

“Neville, look at me. I would never want you to think that. You’re right, I didn’t like you before this year. But I didn’t like you because we were preparing to fight a war for our entire childhoods, and when it came, you were sad, depressed; you led a resistance in these walls, but you didn’t let anyone through your own.

“And I was angry. Pissed. Desperate. I stuck to what I knew and who I knew. You were the new Golden Boy and I was a Slytherin who tried not to pick a side.”

Neville nodded and Blaise continued. “The fact that you were fat had nothing to do with it.”

“What changed now?”

Blaise leaned forward, running his fingers lightly down the pale freckles on Neville’s cheeks. “I grew up. I’ve been able to better myself since the war.

“And you,” he said reverently, “You’ve found something you love and you’re happy now.”

Neville looked down at the dirt in his fingernails, the plants around his dormitory. He was apprenticing with Professor Sprout and had a habit of bringing work home with him.

“So, if I got fat again…”

“I wouldn’t care. I swear to Merlin, Neville, I love your sense of humour, the way you hum when you work. I love how compassionate you are, how much you care about your friends.

“Yes, I like how you look now; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t love you if you gain the weight back.”

“You love me?”

Blaise nodded. “Yes, I love you. I think I have ever since our second date.”

Neville leaned in and kissed him gently, unable to find the words at that moment to tell Blaise he felt the same.

When he pulled back, Neville couldn’t help but laugh. “I took you to look at plants on our second date.”

Blaise shrugged. “You showed me something you were passionate about. I’d never seen you so happy.”

Neville had old, silvery stretch marks under his arms and one day, he might gain the weight back around his middle. But he had Blaise, and regardless of what was to come, they were happy now.


	19. Chapter 19

One would think that with all the loss Harry and Draco had faced in their short lives, it would get easier to say good-bye to those they loved.

And yet, it was more or less the opposite. It seemed that every time they lost someone, they held the rest closer.

Losing Lucius hadn’t been easy, but Draco didn’t have much of a relationship with him, at least since the war. Lucius’ decisions had caused a rift to grow between him and his son that he was never able to fix.

But Narcissa, she would have died for Draco. She lost the war for Draco.

Losing her was like losing spring. Draco had taken her for granted, always, and being without her was incomprehensible. The rain was here, but it wasn’t bringing any flowers.

Harry sat with Draco on the floor of his childhood bedroom, Draco’s hands shaking as they gripped a photograph of him and his mother. She was laughing as he rode his practice broom in a circle around her, delight evident on both their faces.

Harry pulled his boyfriend close, bringing Draco’s head to his chest as Draco took in one shuddering breath after the next.

“You okay, love?” Harry asked softly.

“No,” Draco answered. “But I’m better with you here.”

They sat like that for hours, their best dress robes on the floor next to them and a new container of ashes on the table downstairs.

It wasn’t okay; Draco wasn’t alright, but he would be.


	20. Happy birthday, Harry Potter . . .

It was one thing to be young and in love, Harry thought. It was another to be old and sure of the person you had spent your life with.

At fifteen, they were both fighting for their lives against a madman hell-bent on destroying the world. Harry lost his godfather that year. He was full of anger and he hated the way everyone thought they deserved a piece of him. At fifteen, Draco wished to run away, leave everything behind and get out while he still could. Instead, he stayed, and forever regretted the things that path led him to do.

At twenty-two, Harry was in a dead-end relationship. He loved the fire in her, the way she laughed, but they both knew it had to end. The war was over and Harry was finished doing what was expected of him. His future love worked in a repair shop, hoping that if he fixed enough broken things, maybe he could learn to fix himself. He had a flame deep within his bones, starting to grow.

At thirty-three, they were together – had been for a while. They were waiting on the adoption paperwork to go through for their first child. They named him James. He may not be their child biologically, but he ran his fingers through his hair like Harry and learned to love books like Draco.

At forty-five, Harry brought out Sirius’ old motorbike and fixed the charms so it could fly again. Oh, what he would give to be young again. He loved his husband, and his children – four, now – but there was something unfulfilled in him. Draco bought him a new leather jacket and watched the kids as the headlight blended in with the stars.

Harry suddenly felt wise at fifty, felt like he could give advice and people would actually listen to it. He found himself talking about how fast life was going; his beard was more grey than black. His love gained weight around the middle and always wore jumpers around the house.

They moved at sixty-seven, realizing Grimmauld Place was too big for just the two of them. The kids were long gone, living lives of their own. It was time to move on, and the year passed in a haze of packing and reorganizing.

Harry looks at his love. They’re celebrating Harry’s ninety-ninth birthday, and what he wouldn’t give to spend another hundred years with Draco.

Oh, he thinks, what a beautiful thing to spend your life with someone you love.


	21. Chapter 21

“Do you love him?”

Ginny leaned against the bar next to him, her red hair brushing his shoulder. He felt the bass thrumming through him and thanked the low lighting in the club for allowing him to hide in the shadows.

He didn’t know why she had approached him.

He hadn’t been invited. It wasn’t hard though, to figure out where Harry would be on a Friday night, where he would be celebrating his latest accomplishment with his friends.

He knew Harry; he knew how Harry took his drinks in the evening and his coffee in the morning, knew how to calm Harry down and how to rile him up.

Draco glanced at Ginny. “Do you?”

She hummed under her breath.

“That’s not an answer,” he said. But it didn’t matter – she hadn’t answered in words, but he could tell by the ways her eyes moved across the room, the way they landed on him.

“I asked you first.” She placed her order with the bartender before turning back to Draco. “I knew he was different, when he came back this time. There was a passion, extinguished. He needs to be loved, he needs someone who can make him happy.”

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he watched Harry dance with Ron, a smile on his face as he struggled to not trip over his own feet.

“I found the ring, you know. He plans to propose.”

Draco couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath.

“We’d be happy, I think. We could make it work.”

Harry lifted his arms above his head and spun, head thrown back as he laughed.

She repeated her question. “Do you love him?”

Merlin, his smile could light up the room. Towards the end though, he had stopped smiling at Draco; he was sullen, withdrawn. They fought all the time.

“He deserves someone who can make him happy.”

Draco took a sip of his drink. He shouldn’t have come tonight, shouldn’t be standing at the bar with Harry’s girlfriend.

“I’ll do it if you don’t, you know. Marry him. Love him.” She sighed. “I’d do it for him, if it’s what he really wanted.”

He bit back the tears that threatened to spring forward. He had been a coward for so long, it was hard to break the pattern. Hard to chase something – someone – he wanted, when everything he wanted in the past several years had been denied to him.

“Do you love him?” She was pleading now. “He’s hurt, Draco, but you can make it right.”

He couldn’t answer.

The bartender returned with her drink, and she disappeared back into the crowd.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius x Remus

Remus didn’t know what he was doing as he got into his beat-up car and drove to Islington, to a destination he had worked so damn hard to forget. His hands shook as they gripped the wheel, his head spinning with what ifs, a spiral of regrets and mistakes from his youth, from now.

He didn’t know what he was doing, yet he drove there like he’d done it a million times, like there was something drawing him towards the area, towards the house.

Maybe there was.

He parked out front and forced himself out of his car, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands as he did so. There were so many new scars, so many new wrinkles and grey hairs since he had last been here. Because he had been here, all those years ago – when he was still strong, hopeful; when he was still unbroken.

He couldn’t get into the house without permission, couldn’t even see it. And yet he stood there in the cold and waited.

It could have been five minutes and it could have been an hour – time lost all meaning as he was transported back to fifteen, seventeen, back to Hogwarts and back to the Marauders. Full moons and black dogs, shared beds and careful hands exploring in the dark.

The houses began to move.

They parted, slowly, space created from nothing and Number Twelve was revealed in the middle, slightly dilapidated and yet as intimidating as ever. Remus stared at the house, taking in the sight of it before moving forward, forcing one foot in front of the other as he made his way.

Remus didn’t bother to knock; Sirius knew he was there, had invited him in by allowing the house to reveal itself.

Yet as he reached for the doorknob, he had no idea what he was planning to say – how was he supposed to greet someone he hadn’t seen in thirteen years?

How was he supposed to go back to fifteen, seventeen, back to Hogwarts and back to the Marauders when it was thirteen years later and they were the only two left?

How was Remus supposed to tell him that he had missed Sirius’ hands – that he had dreamt of them in the dark in his shabby flat? That he hadn’t allowed anyone else to touch him for years? He had whispered promises of forever into Sirius’ lips when they laid next to each other by the Great Lake, and Merlin, he had meant it.

But how was he supposed to share thirteen years of longing when neither he nor Sirius were the same people they had been before?

Remus took a deep breath, steadied himself, and turned the knob.


	23. Chapter 23

Maybe it started when Malfoy’s owl swept in through Harry’s open window, landing on his bed and pecking him awake.

Harry had been down half a bottle of Firewhisky before he pulled himself to bed, and the last thing he wanted to do was read a fucking five-page long (double-sided) apology letter from Draco sodding Malfoy.

So he grabbed the paper nearest to him, which happened to be part of the Firewhisky label, and scrawled three words onto it in his messy handwriting before attaching it to the bird’s talon and sending it away.

 _I forgive you_ , it read.

Maybe it started when Harry was out with friends and saw Malfoy drinking alone at the bar.

Instead of ignoring him, pretending their eyes hadn’t met across the room, Harry made his way over and said hello. He didn’t sit, didn’t stay, but he acknowledged the other man’s presence.

Maybe it started with a touch, the brush of Malfoy’s fingertips against Harry’s wrist when he finally did stay at the bar, in the corner, both nursing a butterbeer as Harry’s friends waited on the other side of the room.

Maybe all it took was that moment of trust, of thinking the other was worth something – a moment of time, a conversation, worth taking a seat for and getting to know.

One butterbeer turned into countless beers and drinks over the course of weeks and months and maybe even years.

Maybe all it took was time.

It didn’t start when they were eleven, or seventeen, fighting a madman and fighting the demons within themselves. It didn’t start when they were both healing, focused on themselves as they adjusted to a freedom neither thought they would live to see.

But maybe it did start, maybe love found the two of them and gave them a beginning, a middle – maybe their end is open and the tree is still growing, branches stretching towards the sky with possibilities.

Maybe it started, and maybe they’re both happy.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [all-drarry-to-me](https://all-drarry-to-me.tumblr.com/).


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